


breathing's easier underwater (i can see the sky from here)

by knoxoursavior



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Depression, M/M, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 03:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: Dawn escapes Eiji most of these days.Or, Eiji's days are littered with notes in Sing's handwriting.





	breathing's easier underwater (i can see the sky from here)

**Author's Note:**

> depression and suicidal thoughts are mostly? implied? maybe but yea

Dawn escapes Eiji most of these days.

He stays up until New York has turned quiet outside of his one-bedroom apartment. Never late enough to see the sun rise, to be faced with the temptation of looking at his windowsill and imagining Ash sitting there, beautiful,  _ alive. _ Never late enough that his eyes ache from unshed tears instead of this now familiar weariness that's crawled its way under his skin.

He wakes up long after the sky has turned light blue to the sound of whining, of Buddy scratching on his bedroom door. He wakes up with his clothes sticking to his skin and the sunlight blazing against his back, wakes up to an empty apartment and an emptier space on his bed where Ash used to sleep. 

He doesn't want to get up. Doesn't think he  _ can _ get up. Doesn't even want to open his eyes because as long as he doesn't, he can still pretend that Ash is right there beside him.

But he has to, because Buddy needs him, and Sing will be disappointed when he comes back only to find a mess waiting for him.

So Eiji forces himself to get up. He leaves his sheets as they are, walks past the fresh shirt Sing has laid out on the foot of his bed, and he opens his door to greet Buddy with a scratch under his chin.

There's a note stuck to his door.  _ It's going to be sunny today,  _ it says.  _ It might be nice to take a walk around the block.  _ But Eiji already knows that it would be anything but nice, knows that Ash waits for him at every turn, haunts him with glimpses of blonde hair, of a white shirt and denim jeans in the corner of his eye.

Eiji takes Buddy outside long enough for him to do what he needs to do, but nothing more.

There's another note stuck to the hallway, right under the hook for Buddy's leash.  _ Lunch is in the fridge,  _ it says.  _ I made fried rice today. I hope you like it. _

Another note stuck on the refrigerator. Usually, it's some kind of rendition of whatever food he's left Eiji. Sometimes, it's a drawing of Buddy, curled up in his sleep, or sitting by the door with his tongue stuck out. A handful of times, it's a little blob with a smiling face and a speech bubble drawn next to it.  _ Good morning,  _ it said one time. Another time— _ It's a nice day out. _

Today, it says,  _ I miss you. See you later. _

I miss you. As if Sing doesn't come visit him every single day, without fail. As if Sing isn't the only reason Eiji even remembers to eat at least once a day.

As if Eiji hasn't been here all along, suffering.

Eiji knows Sing doesn't mean it the way he's taking it. Sing is too nice, too kind, and Eiji has taken advantage of that kindness and felt too little guilt for it.

No, it's meant to be sweet.  _ I haven't even left yet, but I miss you already. I'll see you later.  _ Sweet, like the way Sing smiles at him over dinner as he tells Eiji about his day. Sweet, like the way Sing brushes his hair back from his face and tucks him in when he's pretending to be asleep. Sweet, like the way Sing writes all these notes in the hopes that Eiji will read them and allow them to guide him through his day because he has sunk so low that even  _ living _ is something he needs help with nowadays.

It isn't meant to be taken like,  _ I miss the person you were before,  _ or,  _ I miss the version of you that wasn't a walking shell of a person,  _ but Eiji can't help thinking of those words slipping out of Sing's lips like a curse. It hurts and it makes the ache in Eiji's chest feel even worse, and it's no one's fault except his own. 

Eiji wants to vomit. He wants to run to the bathroom and hunch over the toilet and part from what little is left in his stomach, but he doesn't even make it to one step before his knees buckle and he falls to the floor.

But it's fine. The floor is fine. It's easy to clean. Eiji just has to make sure that Buddy doesn't get too near, so he holds Buddy back with his free hand while his other clutches at his throat as if it'll do anything about the ache in his throat or the heavy feeling in his chest or the queasiness in his stomach.

It's fine.

He cleans up after himself, wipes the floor down and throws the dirty rag in the trash can. Eiji still feels like the entire room smells like vomit, but he forces himself to stand up and take his food out of the fridge. He heats it up, lets Buddy distract him as he watches it spin around inside the microwave.

It tastes like vomit too, but that's no one's fault except his own. 

There's another note next to the sink.  _ Don't worry about the dishes,  _ it says.  _ I'll be back later to wash them. _

Sing will be back. He always comes back, but now, with the bitter taste of bile still lingering in Eiji's mouth, he wonders why.

But, ah. Half the afternoon has already gone by without him knowing it. Eiji pushes himself to go back to his room and change his shirt, and then he pushes himself to the bathroom, brushes his teeth until his gums feel raw and he starts to notice how tired, how ugly, how  _ sad  _ his reflection looks.

There's another note on the mirror, and he focuses on that instead.  _ The new strawberry soap smells nice,  _ it says. _ I hope you don't mind that I used it this morning.  _ Eiji doesn't mind. He hasn't even tried it yet, and he doesn't plan on using it even now.

Ash only ever smelled like mint and sweat mixed together. Every month, when Sing is out, Eiji forces himself to walk two blocks to the grocery store and buys the same brand of soap that Ash used. This is the one thing that he does not let go, the one thing that he clings to. He rubs the soap all over his sheets and pretends it's Ash he smells when he's bundled in his blankets at night.

And now, he steps into the tub and lathers the soap into his skin until it's all he can smell. He closes his eyes and sinks up to his ears under the water. He can feel himself drifting off, knows that he probably shouldn't let himself sleep, but—

With the warmth from the water and the smell of the soap, Eiji can almost believe that Ash is right there, arms wrapped around him in a hug. He holds his breath long enough that he's dizzy with it, long enough that he's light-headed, like he's floating in a dream, and he can almost taste Ash on his tongue, can almost hear Ash's voice calling his name.

It's fine. Sing will be here soon anyway. He'll get Eiji out of the bath. Eiji can rely on him, just like he has been all this time. It's fine. It's  _ fine,  _ so Eiji lets himself drift off.

He dreams of Ash, sitting on his windowsill, a hand stretched out for him to take.

  
  


(When Sing wakes him up later, it's already dark out. The water is cold and he feels dirtier than he did when he first stepped into the water.

The smell of Ash's soap has disappeared. The air tastes like disappointment.)

**Author's Note:**

> i havent written eiji in forever but hmu on [twt](http://twitter.com/singeiji) if u wanna


End file.
